


No Rest for the Weary

by why-the-hell-do-i-write (stillwater_writes)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Execution au, Hence the lower rating, M/M, Psychological Torture, Torture, a good deal of angst, the torture is more implied, there's a bit of violence too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7583170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillwater_writes/pseuds/why-the-hell-do-i-write
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack always knew he was going to die, probably young at that. He just never expected it to be as a criminal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Rest for the Weary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hawkefeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkefeathers/gifts), [erihan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erihan/gifts).



> A piece of angst for the Overwatch Execution AU, the discussion for which originating on Hawkefeather's tumblr visor76. The discussion was between them and erihan (on here, who was on anon there), and it was some top quality stuff, so this happened!  
> (In case you didn't understand any of that, brass tax is AU credit goes to erihan and Hawkefeathers aka visor76)  
> If you want to know more, it's tagged on visor76! (I'll put a link at the end)

A death sentence.

He shouldn’t be surprised really. Jack always felt he was destined to die young. That there was some situation he wouldn’t be able to handle. He’d always thought it’d be out in the field though. While providing and ally with cover fire. Rescuing hostages. Running a reconnaissance mission. Anything.

He hadn’t expected it his death to come from being more or less a glorified office worker. The job as Overwatch Strike Commander was one he never wanted. It’d been thrust upon him despite his adamant insistence that Gabe should be the one to lead. After all, he was the reason that the initial instance of Overwatch had even survived.

Jack smiles to himself, the expression resigned and bitter, but with a hint of gratitude. At least it means Gabe isn’t the one slated for public execution. At least with Jack’s death nobody else will be hurt. The public should be satisfied between this and the disassembly of the rest of Overwatch.

Jack rolls on to his back and stares at the ceiling of his cell. At least the world can find some peace.

\----

“It’s time.” Jack isn’t surprised when the officials show up outside his cell a few hours later. He doesn’t resist when they cuff him. He doesn’t ask any questions when they place the sack over his head. It’s all standard for death by firing squad. He just follows their lead, guided along by the two guards holding his elbows.

\----

After some kind of silent signal, they stop. Jack can feel the setting sun on his skin, the wind that gently floats by. That’d been his last request. To die at sunset. Not for any silly symbolic reason, no. He just enjoys the feeling of the dimming sun the best.

“I’m sorry Commander. I wish this could have ended differently.” It’s the same official that spoke before. Their voice is soft, empathetic and even slightly regretful. Jack doesn’t respond, simply opting to nod stiffly. He understands. The official lightly squeezes his shoulder in an attempt at comfort or reassurance.

After another silent signal the guards turn Jack, and he can only assume that it’s to face his executioners. He straightens, drawing his shoulders back and puffing out his chest ever so slightly. He doesn’t want to seem weak or pitiful. Jack Morrison will die with pride.

It’s silent for a few moments before there’s a loud call. The order to fire. Jack braces himself, ready for the bullets to pierce him. To end his life. There’s the cacophony of five guns firing at once and then a grace period of ringing silence. Jack knows it’s just a trick of his mind, that any second he’ll fell the hot metal that’ll end his life punching through his body.

It never does.

Instead he feels the sting of a needle jammed into his neck, the numbness and darkness of heavy tranquilizers taking him.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The official is back, their voice cold and severe, with malice and cruelty mixed in. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your death Jack. We certainly have.”

\----

Time no longer exists. The sky is a foreign concept. Freedom is an unattainable dream. Peace is lost forever.

Pain is all Jack has known for the past eternity. Pain and darkness. Isolation. His tormentors never utter a word, they’re deathly silent as they draw screams of agony. Time and time again, with barely time to breathe. Any method imaginable. The soft sun and cool breeze of the day Jack died is a distant and beautiful dream.

\----

 His isolation is broken. They’re back, face and body hidden in shadow, only the telltale reflection of light on glasses giving them substance.

“There’s something I think you’d like see.” Their voice is even crueler than before, a vile glee present that wasn’t there before. Jack only blinks, his overtaxed mind trying to register the words echoing loudly around the room. There’s a quiet click, and a previously unseen screen comes to life. Jack squints, the harsh light burning his eyes. “Do you recognize this place Commander? You once called it home.” Through watering eyes, the image slowly registers. Overwatch HQ. In  
Zürich. Jack doesn’t know how to respond, so he simply stares at the screen blearily. “Oh, wait a second! This isn’t the right video!” The official’s voice is full of mock shock and concern. There’s another click and the image shifts slightly. Jack can’t tell the difference. That is, until a blinding explosion appears on the screen and the accompanying boom nearly shattering his ear drums. “You see that? That’s your legacy! Everyone you love dead.” Jack’s tearing eyes snap to the person in shadow, and he can see their wide smile gleaming.

“what?” Jack’s voice is hardly above a raspy whisper, the screams from the past torture ruining his voice.

“It’s just as I said. Everyone.” The official brings up their hands, counting names on their fingers. “Lena Oxton. Winston. Angela Ziegler. Ana Amari. Reinhardt Wilhelm.  Torbjörn Lindholm. Jesse McCree. Genji Shimada. And,” They stop, smile growing impossibly wider, “Gabriel Reyes.” Each name cuts Jack like a knife, but doing infinitely more damage than any of the instruments of pain he’d been assailed with earlier.

“g-gabe?” Jack’s voice is even weaker than before, grief choking him from within.

“That’s right. And they’re were all there because of you. Called together by mourning.” Jack can barely breathe. Tears are streak his face, cutting lines through the dried blood that encases him. _All. Dead. They’re. All. Dead._ The realization hitting him cuts worst of all, and Jack can feel a part of him shatter. His emotions disappear, leaving a smothering void in their wake. He slumps, and stares unseeingly at the floor eyes like broken glass. _No. Point._ The official laughs quietly, the sound sickening. As they leave, the pat Jack on the shoulder.

“You’re all alone and it’s your fault.”

\----

The next time they come to torture Jack, he doesn’t react. He doesn’t flinch when the door opens. He doesn’t look up when they enter the room. He sits perfectly still when they set pliers, and knives and all sorts of other instruments on the table near him. He doesn’t react when one of them grabs him by the hair, tilting his head back to reveal glassy eyes and a distant expression. The torturer grabs a knife, bringing it to Jack’s cheek. He still doesn’t react. When the torturer begin to lightly press it down, just barely breaking skin is when it happens.

Glass turns to steel and Jack slams his head into the torturer’s with a loud crack. The man reels, clutching a hand to his broken nose. Jack doesn’t let up, ramming his head into the man’s face and chest and arms repeatedly, until the knife falls from his grip, conveniently fraying the rope bonds on one of Jack’s wrists. All it takes is a sharp tug and the rope snaps, and Jack frees himself with one of the knives in arms reach. It only takes a matter of seconds.

Jack shakily stands, turning to where the torturer’s accomplice has backed against the wall in fear. Logically, they should have been screaming for help, but the pure, driving hate and cold merciless look in Jack’s eyes has them frozen. They’re dispatched quickly, and Jack steadily walks out of the room, his vendetta driving his movement. He moves through the rest of the facility, dealing with any resistance and raiding both the labs and armory.

\----

Once the building has been cleared, he steps outside. **UNF-76** the plaque on the outside wall reads. He studies it for a second before turning and walking away. A minute later, the building explodes as 76 snaps on his tactical visor.

**_Jack Morrison may be dead, but this soldier must go on._** He shoulders the heavy pulse rifle. **_I won’t stop until this fight is done._** Soldier 76 walks off into the deep night, steel in his hidden eyes and fire in his scarred heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the link for the tagged stuff! http://visor76.tumblr.com/tagged/executionAU most of it is tagged I think.


End file.
